


Hazy Shade of Winter

by spacemonkey



Category: U2
Genre: Angst, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 23:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11838801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemonkey/pseuds/spacemonkey
Summary: There were times when Bono was more terrifyingly real than Edge could fathom. Set in the early 90s.





	Hazy Shade of Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all, I had like one day off from both uni and work, so here, have some angst written in like two hours! My 40th U2 fic! Holy hell, MY 40TH U2 FIC...it seems right that I celebrate that by writing angst set during my favourite era yassss. I hope you all enjoy...I'm not entirely sure where this came from, just that it appeared in fragments while listening to The Bangles sing the song this fic takes its title from? Who even knows anymore, but I hope you all enjoy, and I miss writing for you all terribly. STUPID LIFE xxx

Edge had been by the fireplace when Bono, his blue eyes becoming more clouded as each new emotion occurred to him in waves, had met his gaze amid the crowded room, holding it until the two of them had simply just  _known_.

Bono had this way about him that was as bewildering as it was enticing. He could bring silence to the din of a crowd by simply talking in an even tone. He could draw all eyes on him by stepping into a room and being himself. His aura said it all when he was angry, or sad, or just wanted to stop and listen to the silence. When he cried, his body turned in on itself, creating a barrier between the world and most recent distress, and the blue of his eyes turned so vibrant that it was hard to focus on anything but, hard to look past that blue and see the whites shot through with red. There were times when he was more terrifyingly real than Edge could fathom. There were times when he seemed larger than life, and Edge could see himself in the crowds of fans who would do anything just to see a smile sent their way. Sometimes, he was the only one who could keep Edge sane.

Somehow, he knew exactly where to be when Edge reached out a hand for a lifeline.

 

* * *

 

 Noise had surrounded Edge for so long that long stretches of silences felt almost deafening. At first, it seemed like a good thing—he could clear his mind and focus until the melody made its long-awaited appearance. But he could think about nothing only for so long, until all the sounds that he wasn’t hearing came roaring through his mind like a 747.

The sound of laughter, of little feet pitter-pattering through the house, of cartoons turned up too loud on a bleary Saturday morning. Voices raised late at night, spitting out angry words that they both would regret once dawn broke.  _Daddy_  said in every which way three little minds could imagine saying it, standing alone or followed by a request, or a question. The three of them growing taller with each hug given, handing him a reason to stay just one more day. He missed such noises the most when listening to his footsteps sound through an empty house, when he was in bed wondering how many mistakes a person could make in one lifetime. The house was too big for one man, and sometimes Edge felt smaller than he ever had.

It was almost Christmas when he stoked the fireplace for the first time and opened his doors. He’d bought a tree just for the occasion, sparsely decorating it and wrapping a few gifts early to place underneath for the sake of appearances. He had a Christmas tree and enough firewood to last him throughout the entirety of winter, how could things be anything other than fine with such things in his life?

He drank champagne with his friends to celebrate the festive season. He turned to spirits as the night progressed. He listened to Bono hold centre stage while speaking in an even tone and wondered if anyone would notice if he just quietly slipped away. And when he couldn’t find it in himself to abandon his own party, Edge figured that slipping away to spend some time alone in front of the fireplace was just as good. There, he tried to forget the way Bono’s expression had crumbled the night before. How electric blue his eyes had turned. The request that had been made. There by the fire, Edge hoped that people would leave him be for long enough. He hoped that Bono wouldn’t look his way. Not yet. Not until he could land on all the right reasons for saying  _no_.

It didn’t come. And when Bono did finally look Edge’s way, his gaze changing again and again, all the reasons that had left them in limbo slipped away. It wasn’t a definitive  _yes_  that came, but then then Bono had never dealt in absolutes—he just followed his heart.

And Edge simply followed.

 

* * *

 

 It had been a grey night in Berlin when Bono said to him, “Sometimes, it feels like the studio is on fire and I keep reaching for the gasoline instead of water.”

It had been a statement Edge could relate to. One born from frustration, that eventually lead to desperation.  _How?_  was a question with only a hazy answer, but when Edge looked back on their lives with a critical eye, it appeared to him that inevitability had played a big part. Something had been simmering for a while between them—eventually one of them had to reach for the gasoline.

It had been him in the end. He remembered that clear enough, despite the vodka, and the slippery slide of his memory that skipped ahead to the good parts, blurring together until all he could think of was the way in which Bono’s hand had gripped his thigh when he leaned in close to be heard over the music. High enough to be construed as something more than friendly when anyone else pulled such a move. But then Bono wasn’t just anybody else. He was bewildering. He was enticing. Eventually, something had to give.

Sometimes, on those nights where Edge felt as though he needed a reason, he closed his eyes and played, over and over in his head, the  _no_  that Bono had initially thrown his way that grey night in Berlin. Its emergence into the world had been more of a reflex to the surprise than a refusal, but still it had given Edge reason enough to pause. In the silence that had followed, Bono, his eyes wide and a little lost, had looked at Edge for a reason to stay. It was an expression that haunted him on those nights when he needed the guilt to make it through.

It was an expression that hadn’t lasted long, after Bono had looked at him long enough to find what he needed.

And somehow, whether it had been through persuasion or magic or a little bit of both, that  _no_  had been turned into  _yes_. Whispered hesitantly in Edge’s ear as they pressed together in a bathroom stall that boasted graffiti written in both German and English on its walls. Coaxed from his lips as Edge’s fingertips had discovered the inside of his thigh in a hotel room that had previously been devoid of life. Hidden by the pillowcase when Edge had lost all semblance of control.

It had been an answer to a question Edge had asked, over and over as he’d searched for a reason to extinguish the fire before it could spread: _Are you sure_   _you want this?_

Sometimes, on those nights where Edge felt as though he needed a lifeline, he closed his eyes and played, over and over in his head, the ways in which Bono had reacted to that question being asked on that grey night in Berlin.

_yes yes yes_

And when he thought back to how Bono had managed to curve that word so differently each time, making it sound like a fresh validation, regret seemed like a foreign concept just out of reach.

Now and then, though, Edge couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened had Bono continued to tell him  _no_.

 

* * *

 

 It was almost Christmas when Bono surprised them both by breaking down in Edge’s kitchen. The way his eyes turned electric blue left Edge wanting him all the more, until that want turned into a beast of a different kind. The guilt emerged, for having such thoughts when Bono needed something more from him, and for being the reason for it all.

Later, when the memory of the incident kept himself up late at night, Edge told himself that it wasn’t just him. He wasn’t the  _only_  reason.

It wasn’t just him.

In the moments before Bono’s eyes had turned electric blue, the way in which his mouth had twisted—not quite a smile, not quite anything—had caused Edge to lean in and kiss him. There were so many things he could think to regret in life, but that kiss wasn’t one of them.

He sat there in the kitchen and watched Bono’s body shake, not knowing what else to do but want him, and it was only when Bono went to turn away from him that Edge thought to reach out a hand. He couldn’t bear to lose the connection.

“I’m sorry,” Bono said when he could, shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe it. Any of it. “That was—I don’t even know, Edge.”

“It’s alright,” Edge said. “B. What—”

“It’s nothing.” Bono let out a hollow laugh. “It’s stupid, alright? Just. . . can we please just eat?”

It was a recipe Edge had made before, so many times, in fact, that he didn’t need to read it from a book. It wasn’t rocket science, after all. It was just pancakes.

He explained the process to Bono as he went along. One egg. Three quarters of a cup of milk. One cup self-raising flour. A bit more caster sugar than the recipe called for—and telling Bono that brought forth the smile that Edge desperately needed to see—and a hint of vanilla essence, for that extra sweetness. He explained the process even though he’d seen Bono make pancakes before. He made the pancakes exactly as he explained, exactly as he had in the past, yet ended up with a mix that was too thick and gluggy. He couldn’t remember if he’d put one cup of flour or more, though he had his suspicions. Adding more milk did little to help, and the mix clung to the spoon when he tried to disperse it into the pan in even dollops. The servings turned out too thick, outwardly hard, inwardly oozing, and Edge couldn’t help but wonder where he’d gone wrong in life. All he had wanted was to make Bono smile. Such a notion was something to cling to, that seemed impossibly easy on most days. Not every day. Not today, it seemed.

Though when Edge turned back around after binning his pancakes and found Bono licking the mix from the spoon, he wasn’t sure what to think. “I put too much flour in, I think.”

The smile came then, slow at first. “Tastes fine to me.”

It wasn’t something that Edge could believe. “Let’s just start over, and—”

“Edge.” Bono’s smile briefly wavered. For a moment it looked as though he had more to say, but it passed when he set the spoon down on the counter. “Come here.”

Edge could taste the pancake mix when they kissed. He could taste the flaws, picture the way Bono’s expression had crumbled only a few minutes beforehand. He wanted to ask. He knew it was an issue that should be further pressed. But when Bono rose from his chair and started through the empty house, Edge couldn’t imagine doing anything else but following him into the bedroom, into bed, into a situation that had shaped their every moment together since that one grey night in Berlin.

And afterwards, when Bono exposed himself by asking, “Do you think that she knows?” the only answer that came to mind was silence. Bono looked at Edge until he got the reaction he needed. “What do we do, Edge?”

“I don’t know.”

“Should we stop?”

“I don’t  _know_.”

Bono’s face was almost as pale as the sheets. His hair looked like ink against the pillow. Edge thought of Ali during the silence that followed, and when jealousy came before guilt he figured that was reason enough for stopping before it got too complicated. Without Ali, Bono would crumble. And Edge wasn’t sure he could stand to be the cause of another marriage ending.

He just wasn’t sure.

“I don’t know if I could,” Bono said quietly.

“Bono—”

“I feel like people rarely tell me no anymore.” Bono shook his head. “It’s like the more famous I get, the more I’m surrounded by yes-men, you know? It was kind of nice at first, but now I wonder if I’m sometimes missing out on reality because my world is being painted in a certain way.” A wry smile appeared on his face as he turned towards Edge. “Tell me no, Edge.”

 


End file.
